


Flower Petals On My Pillow

by Copper_Nails (Her_Madjesty)



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Awkward Flirting, F/M, Language of Flowers, M/M, ShopOwner!Cassian, TattooArtist!Jyn, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 02:37:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8950606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Her_Madjesty/pseuds/Copper_Nails
Summary: The bell above the shop door chimes. Jyn turns, a plastic smile already plastered on her face, and is greeted by a guest with flowers for a head.“Uh, hello,” she says, smile dropping. “Can I help you?”The flowers move to look at her, body shifting beneath. “Could you take this from me?” a voice says, muffled by a beautifully arranged display of summer roses. “I think I may be in the wrong place.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Where did this piece come from? I dunno. It was fun to write, though. I hope you folks end up enjoying it, too! XOXO

**Monday**

Monday morning, and Jyn finds herself sitting across from two nervous, twenty year old girls in Stardust Tattoo Parlor’s only consultation booth. It’s less a booth and more of a glorified office; her father, up at the shop's front desk, now, is in it more frequently than Jyn is, but the moment the two girls had walked through the door, he’d shooed them in her direction. Jyn had taken one look at them, herself, and done her best not to sigh.

“The lettering shouldn’t be too hard,” she says, now, squinting at the line of text one of the girls has scribbled out for her. “I’d quote you at around fifty to seventy five dollars if you want it up your forearm.” She frowns, then goes to ask about the colors or inks, but the girl has already pulled the paper away with a stuttered ‘thank you’.

The duo goes slinking out of the shop, a few minutes later, leaving Jyn to replace her father at the front desk. She stretches and stifles a yawn. The rainbow colored clock tucked behind the counter ticks towards nine at a pace that would make a snail cry.

“All done?” her father asks. He has bags beneath his eyes that march her own; on him, though, they look distinguished. She looks like the nearly-broke twenty something she is, like her bed is just a mattress on the floor that she collapses on when she realizes that she wants to go to sleep.

“Yeah. Looks like a straightforward job,” she says, looking back towards the front door. “Just a bit of lettering, and right on the forearm. It’ll take an hour, maybe an hour and a half, so long as she can afford it.”

“Can’t complain about that,” Galen Erso murmurs. He takes a slip of paper from beneath the front desk and a pen from the plastic cup near the register. Jyn leans away from him as he settles into a doodle and watches as sparks flash behind his eyes.

“You’re getting too geometric again,” she says, watching as the creation pours forth from his fingers.

“We have to strike a balance, stardust,” Galen says. He glances up and shoots her a small smile. “Your work requires geometrics as much as mine does. Your connection is simply less obvious.”

This from a man who spent the pre-fatherhood half of his life serving as an engineer. Jyn rolls her eyes, but it’s a playful thing, and goes back to watching the front door.

Stardust Tattoo Parlor is a clean establishment, a city’s standard house of ink. Its one distinguishing feature is its broad back wall, which, at the moment, is covered in a plethora of pink sticky notes. Each one has a doodle – not necessarily a tattoo; there’s a string of stick figure comics somewhere up in the left hand corner – and each one is unique. Patrons are invited to look at it while they wait for one of the Ersos to finish a consultation; some have even gotten tattoos based on the art in the glorious display.

One half belongs to Galen. The other belongs to Jyn.

She watches with a curious gaze as her father finishes his design. A fish made of squares and recycled trash blinks up at her with bubbles trailing out of its mouth. Jyn chuckles and swipes the pen from her father’s fingers. He shakes his head and laughs at her before patting her on the back.

“I have a meeting around eleven,” he tells her, pushing away from the desk. “We can keep the radio on until then, if you like. I’ll even let you pick the music.”

“You hate my music,” Jyn reminds him. For a moment, she’s sixteen again, visiting him during the hours when the shop is less busy.

“And you hate mine,” he shoots back. “We’ve learned to live with each other, haven’t we?”

Jyn rolls her eyes and shakes her head. By the time her father has disappeared into the back, she’s made her way over to the jukebox they keep in the corner. It had been an aesthetic purchase some years ago, but Galen had fiddled with it in a fit of boredom and gotten it to produce sound. More fiddling had turned it into a glorified radio and a staple in the parlor.

Jyn shifts through the channels, her eyes drifting over the fading song selections as she tries to break through the white noise.

The bell above the shop door chimes. Jyn turns, a plastic smile already plastered on her face, and is greeted by a guest with flowers for a head.

“Uh, hello,” she says, smile dropping. “Can I help you?”

The flowers move to look at her, body shifting beneath. “Could you take this from me?” a voice says, muffled by a beautifully arranged display of summer roses. “I think I may be in the wrong place.”

Jyn, eyebrow raised, steps forward. She plucks the vase from the stranger’s hands and sets it down on the front counter. The man behind it shakes a flower petal out of his bangs before looking at her with eyes wide and dark.

“Does a Galen Erso work here?” he asks.

Jyn blinks. “He does. Technically he owns the place.”

“Fantastic,” the man mutters, though more to himself than Jyn. She watches as he pulls a pad of paper from his back pocket and leafs through it, grumbling nonsense under his breath. Her eyebrow creeps higher as he rips a piece of paper off and shoves it into her face.

“I have a delivery from an Orson Krennic,” he says. “Could you sign here, please?”

Jyn steps back, squinting at the smearing ink on the paper in front of her. She snatches it from the man’s hand and slips back behind the desk, scribbling her name down on the order form before passing it back over.

“Thanks,” the man grunts, stepping away. Jyn nods and watches him with narrowed eyes as he glances around the shop. His eyes catch on the wall full of sticky notes, then again as he looks back to her.

“Have a nice day,” she says. It sounds insincere and kills the curiosity in the strange man’s eyes. The smile he offers in return isn’t even a smile; it’s a mashing of lips together along with a miniscule wave. The door chime dings as he strolls out of the shop, his steps long and lopping as he disappears into the parking lot.

Jyn holds the front until he’s out of sight. Then she turns her attention to the flowers.

There’s a card attached, written in with a graceful handwriting she’s never seen before. It doesn’t come with a name, but _Orson Krennic_ burns in the back of her mind, familiar, like she should know where she’s heard it before.

Jyn holds the card between two fingers and debates, for a moment, ripping it open. She bites her bottom lip and glances towards the back of the shop, where her father has started humming.

She carries the vase of flowers in to him, a minute or two later. The card remains attached to the vase, its seal unbroken.

“Delivery for you,” she says, setting the vase down on his desk. Galen has his head bent over an old portfolio; there’s smatterings of his and her work scattered throughout. He glances up and blinks at the display before him. His brow furrows, for a moment, before he looks back to Jyn.

“Did you do this?” he asks.

Jyn shakes her head. “The delivery man said they were from an Orson Krennic.”

The furrow grows much, much deeper. Galen turns back to the flowers and narrows his eyes, considering. Jyn watches as he looks back to her, then back to the flowers, then back to her again. The hand that rises to take the card from the vase doesn’t shake, but there’s a tension in Galen Erso’s jaw that makes her wonder.

She leaves the office before she can see him read whatever the note says. There are rose petals left over on the parlor’s front desk; she plays with them while the Ramones croon out of the shop’s jukebox.

The office door opens for Galen’s eleven-o-clock meeting, but otherwise, he stays in his office for the rest of the day. The ride back to Jyn’s apartment is silent; she doesn’t dare ask questions. Instead, she watches his hands curl and uncurl on the steering wheel while a muscle ticks steadily in his jaw.  

 

**Tuesday**

Jyn is in the middle of a job when the delivery man arrives again.

The door chime dings, and her head shoots up just in time to see her father come strolling out of his office. He stops when he sees the bouquet of daffodils in place of the delivery man’s head.

“Galen Erso?” Jyn hears the delivery man ask. Her father’s name has never sounded so exasperated on anyone’s lips but her own. Jyn forces her gaze away from the counter and returns to the line work stretching out across her client’s collarbone. The woman winces, but she doesn’t complain.

“That’s me,” Galen replies. Jyn hears the vase clink as it touches down on the front counter. There is a pause between this and the sound of rustling paper, one that Galen Erso takes advantage of. “What’s your name, son?”

The muscles in Jyn’s arm go tense. Her client winces again.

“Cassian,” the delivery man says, after a long pause. His voice is tinged with suspicion, though not the kind heard when an employee expects a bad review. It sounds more like he expects Galen Erso to kill him.

“Cassian,” Jyn hears her father say. “Tell me, Cassian: do you work for Orson Krennic, or do you just deliver for him?”

“Technically I don’t just deliver for him,” Cassian drawls. “I run a shop a few blocks over – a greenhouse, really. He’s had his assistant call me twice, now, and she’s never forgotten to send her money orders over, so I…end up back here.”

He’s not quite defending himself, Jyn notices, as she puts the final touches on one of her client’s letters; his words fall too flat, too practiced for that. She wants to glance behind her, but her client’s soft hiss holds her attention firm.

She hears her father huff. The paper for the delivery order finally rips, and she allows herself to tune it out as she begins the final word of her client’s tattoo.

“What up with your wall?” Cassian asks.

The effort it takes her not to role her eyes in monumental. To her surprise, she hears her father chuckle. “An exercise in boredom,” he says, likely passing the delivery slip back over the counter. “There are times when business runs a little slow, and we have to occupy ourselves somehow.”

The huff Cassian lets out is almost laughter. Jyn wonders what he looks like, unable to turn her head; is he smiling? Can he smile? Does he have stupid flower petals stuck in his hair?

“Well, thank you, Cassian, for the delivery,” her father says.

“No problem.”

Cassian’s footsteps are heavy as he leaves the shop. Jyn glances out the shop’s front window as he walks away, back towards a truck that’s been painted steel grey. The lines of his back are sharp, and his head is held high, but there’s a bounce in his step that leaves her wondering.

When she’s finished with her client and sent her on her way, she slips into the back of the shop.

Galen seems out of place between the two bouquets on his desk, woefully pale next to their bright colors. He tucks a piece of paper out of sight as Jyn comes through the door; she only catches a glimpse, but the graceful handwriting is still familiar.

They stare at each other for a long moment. Jyn glances at the flowers, then back at her father. The tips of his ears, she realizes, have gone red. His slams his gaze down to his desk and lifts his hands to pinch the bridge of his nose. “It’s complicated,” he says, at last.

“How complicated?”

“Complicated enough that I’m not sure how to proceed,” Galen says. A wave of a hand brushes his fingers against the petals of the daffodils; Jyn watches as the flush of his ears moves down into his cheeks.

“How about this,” she says, in an attempt at diplomacy. “Start by telling me who Orson Krennic is to you, and we can move on from there.”

Her father hesitates. Then, with a drawn out sigh, he does.

 

**Wednesday**

Jyn stumbles through the door of Stardust Tattoo Parlor late the next morning, nursing a hangover she has no way of excusing. Her father has already locked himself in his office; he has a job at ten, she knows, and a consultation at one, but his schedule for the rest of the day is…fluid.

She blinks at the clock behind the counter and fights down a grimace.

There are new post its up on the back wall: the results of her distressed retreat from her father’s office the day before. They aren’t the most elegant work she’s ever done, but they’re harshly stylized; the sharp lines of the skulls are as geometric as her father’s, and the knives and their subsequent blood drops look ghastly, over-shaded and rough.

Orson Krennic, it turns out, is a lower level official with the local government. More importantly, if one is to ask Jyn Erso, he is her father’s ex-boyfriend. His persistent, apologetic, and rather wealthy ex-boyfriend.

Jyn presses her head down onto the tattoo shop’s counter and does her best not to groan aloud.

Her father’s voice had been soft when he’d told her about their partnership; it had been long, apparently, and more than a little volatile, but in a way that Galen claimed he’d enjoyed. The geometrics of his work, already a call back to his days as an engineer, had flourished while he and Orson had dated; he’d tried to change his style after the break up and found it nearly impossible.

They haven’t spoken in several years, if her father is to be believed. He doesn’t know what Orson wants, now, doesn’t know what the flowers or the tucked away notes mean.

He thinks that waiting will eventually lure the man out into the open. Jyn thinks it’ll only make matters worse.

She doesn’t know how long she keeps her head on the counter. A gentle cough sends her shooting upward, stumbling in an attempt to right herself. She doesn’t know how the chime of the door escaped her, but Cassian is standing in front of her, this time with a much simpler bouquet of daisies in his hands.

“Hello, again,” he says. His voice, Jyn notices, once she makes it past the pounding of her head, is softer than normal; his head tilts as he considers her, distant yet confused.

“Hi,” she says, bringing a hand to her temple. “Ah – I’m guessing that’s for my father?”

“You’ve guessed correctly.” Cassian nods. He sets the vase on the counter and, instead of reaching for his notebook, considers her for a long moment. “You don’t look so good,” he says, after a beat.

Despite herself, Jyn snorts. “Excellent line,” she says, absently pushing a strand of hair out of her face. “You’ve made me feel infinitely better about this day.”

Cassian raises an eyebrow. Any signs of concern get tucked away behind the mask of an impassive face; he looks away from her and rips off the delivery form from his pad.

Jyn signs it with an exaggerated flourish, then leans against the counter with a sigh. “At least this one’s smaller,” she says, just loud enough for Cassian to hear. “I can barely get into the office for all the flowers in there.”

She doesn’t mean it to be an olive branch, but she catches a flash of a smile pass over Cassian’s face. “Krennic seems to believe that restraint is his new best option,” he says, not quite looking her in the face. His mouth quirks with sympathy as he runs a hand through his hair. “I’d say I was sorry,” he says, “but I’m making really good money this week.”

The surge of affection that washes over Jyn’s chest takes her by surprise. Her smile is a tentative thing, a tired thing. “We’re working on a solution,” she says. She reaches up and presses a gentle finger against one of the daisies’ petals, watching it cave beneath the light pressure. “I don’t want to deprive you of business, but my father – if he doesn’t deal with this, I’m not quite sure when or how it’ll stop.”

“I understand,” Cassian says, nodding. “And I don’t blame you, either.” He takes the delivery form from its place on the counter and hesitates before slipping it into his pocket. Jyn sees him squint at the lines of her name and stifles a snort of laughter.

“What’s your name?” Cassian asks, after a beat. “I’m trying to decipher this, but the writing –”

“Two insults in one day,” Jyn replies smoothly. “You really know how to chat up customers, don’t you?”

The muscles of Cassian’s jaw tighten. He tucks the paper away before looking at her again; his dark eyes temper exasperation with a lightness Jyn has not yet seen. “What’s your name?” he asks again.

Jyn considers him for a long moment. She glances back towards the bound up daisies and feels the corner of her mouth twitch upward.

“I’m Jyn,” she says, at last. “Jyn Erso.”

Cassian sticks out his hand, letting it hover over the counter. “Cassian Andor.”

Jyn reaches out and shakes, keeping her grip firm. She feels callouses on Cassian’s broad hand, can see dirt just beneath his nails, but the feel of it is…nice. He’s warmer than the air in the shop; if she lets her grip linger and leech off some of his heat, well, he doesn’t seem to mind.

The too-long handshake drops with awkward smiles as Cassian looks away. He waves to her as he turns away, his pace brisk as he pushes through the shop’s front door. Jyn waves back, even though she knows he can’t see her.

She watches until his van disappears, biting her bottom lip and considering.

When she takes the flower into her father’s office, a while later, she laughs at the exasperation that steals across his face.

“What’s the card say?” she asks, leaning up against the doorframe. Galen glares at her for a moment, one finger beneath the envelope fold, as though he’s considering throwing her out.

“Nothing of importance,” he sniffs.

Jyn raises an eyebrow. Her arms cross over her chest, the picture of her father’s child. “If it’s not important, then you can tell me,” she says. “You had no problem telling me all of the other _important_ things yesterday.”

“And you had to drink yourself into a stupor to deal with them,” Galen deadpans. Jyn leans back, properly chastised. She picks at the lint that’s gathered on her shirt as her father opens the card and reads it in silence.

Eventually, he sets it aside with a sigh.

“Well?”

He glares at her again, but it’s a soft, tired thing. “He wants to meet for dinner this Friday,” he says. “He says that he’ll pay, and that I don’t have to show up, but that he’s already made the reservations.”

“That’s presumptive,” Jyn says with a snort.

She watches her father’s face as it turns pensive. He steeples his hands beneath his chin and closes his eyes, all the while taking the most measured of breaths.

“You’re considering it,” she says, eyes widening.

“It means that the flowers will stop,” Galen says. “It means that I can figure out what he wants, deal with him in person, and that, if things go badly, he’ll leave us alone.”

“Will he, though?” Jyn casts a wary eye at the bouquets in the office. The roses are just barely beginning to wilt, but the daffodils retain their blinding yellow.

Her father sighs. “There’s only one way to find out.”

He shoos Jyn out of the office, after that, and has her close the door behind her. Jyn doodles until her next consultation arrives, keeping an ear trained backward towards the office door.

She hears him murmuring through the wood and leaves a post it on his door of a stick figure walking towards his grave.

When he emerges, he informs her, in front of several clients, that he doesn’t appreciate the humor.

 

**Thursday**

“They’ve agreed to go on a date,” Jyn says as way of explanation. She thinks she hears Cassian hum in understanding, but it’s hard to tell; he’s hidden, again, behind a bouquet so large she’s surprised he’s not suffocating.

“I suppose that’s not a bad thing,” he says, setting the oversized vase down. He doesn’t even reach for his delivery form this time; he slumps against the counter, instead. Jyn catches a glimpse of dark bags beneath his eyes and feels a wave of concern well up in her breast.

“Are you doing alright?” she asks, her voice softening.

Cassian looks up at her with eyes too dark. She thinks he nearly smiles, but in the end, he only shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep last night,” he admits. “This order came in just before I closed up last night; I ended up going in early in order to get a head start on it.”

Guilt takes a seat next to the concern and forces Jyn to look away. “That’s…well, I’m not surprised,” she says, at last. “At least, I’m not surprised by Krennic’s order.” She gives Cassian a quick once over and feels her mouth twitch upward. “I suppose I’m not surprised by you, either.”

The look Cassian gives her is scathingly amused. Jyn laughs, startled, and covers her mouth with her hand. She turns away before she can see Cassian’s expression, but judging by the rustling of his coat, he takes the moment to push himself upright.

“What’re you going to do while your father’s out?” he asks.

“I’m not sure,” Jyn replies. She clears her throat and turns back around, careful to keep the amusement out of her face. Her breath catches, all the same; Cassian’s eyes are burning like the black end of a match, like he wants to set her aflame.

Jyn shakes herself and presses on. “I’ve been thinking about tailing him,” she admits, settling her elbows on the counter. “You know, that way I can provide back up in case Krennic decides to be an ass.”

Cassian shoots a glance towards the array of flowers and lets out a huff. “He doesn’t strike me as a man who gives up easily.”

“No, indeed,” Jyn agrees. She looks back towards her father’s office, where he’s currently sitting with a first time customer.

Cassian is still lingering, when she looks back at him. His hands haven’t strayed towards his delivery pad once; Jyn almost asks after it, then bites her tongue.

“I have…some experience,” Cassian says, startling her, “dealing with…persistent individuals. I know your father may not need the assistance, and that if you were there, the two of you would be fine. However…” he trails off and drops his gaze. It looks to Jyn as though he’s gritting his teeth, trying to keep the words from leaving his mouth.

She considers him for a long moment, then fights back a smile. “I could use the assist,” she says, careful not to look him in the eye. “I’d look a bit out of place, sitting in a restaurant by myself.”

A smile flashes over Cassian’s face like an explosion, like a sunrise. It’s gone in an instant, tucked away beneath the mask Jyn knows he wears. “Where should I meet you, then?”

Something bubbles up in Jyn’s stomach and chest that – doesn’t quite hurt, but doesn’t quite feel real, either. “They’re eating at The Salt House,” she says. “I don’t have a car, but we could use your van?”

“I could pick you up,” Cassian agrees with a nod.

“There we go.”

Jyn reaches down to find a sticky note, only for her hand to hit the desk. She glances down, looks around, and finds the cardboard back of the stack sticking out of the trashcan. Swearing beneath her breath, she turns around a plucks a note at random off of the shop’s back wall.

“Here’s my address,” she says, scribbling a row of numbers down next to the doodle. It feels like her cheeks are burning; she bites her lip, then rips the note from the counter. Her fingers brush against Cassian’s as she passes it over, and the burning grows all the worse.

He’s not quite smirking at her, but it’s a near thing. “Thank you,” he says, tucking the note into his pocket. “I’ll see you at…seven, then?”

“Seven thirty,” Jyn says with a shake of her head. “My father’s supposed to get there at seven.”

“Seven thirty, then,” Cassian says. He takes a step back from the counter, though he looks at her like – like – Jyn doesn’t know what. “I’ll be there.”

“You better be,” Jyn says.

Cassian doesn’t bother to hide his smile, this time, as he turns away; it adds a youth to his face that she hasn’t seen and makes her heart beat all the faster.

She tries not to watch as his truck pulls out of the lot, focusing instead on the twitch of her hands and the day’s bouquet. It’s not a date, she reminds herself, willing her blush away. It’s a reconnaissance mission, nothing more. With a shake of her head, she stands up straight and takes the new vase in her hands.

Her father’s head hits his desk when she brings it in to him, and all Jyn can do is laugh.

 

**Friday**

Galen Erso doesn’t come to work on Friday, having informed his daughter that he is taking the day off. Jyn, in turn, arrives before the sun has even risen into the sky to unlock the front doors of the shop. She shivers as she steps inside, turning on the lights as she goes.

She has a consultation, a portfolio review, and line work for the twenty year old who came in on Monday. After the shop closes at five, she has to make it home, change, and sit around waiting for her not-date.

It’s not a date. It’s surveillance. Jyn repeats this to herself as she shuffles over to the jukebox, poking at it as it wakes from the night. The crooner that comes on after it sputters to life makes her color, but she ignores the burn. She sits behind the front desk with her head held high and her breath tight in her lungs as she waits for the hours of the day to pass.

A call comes in around midday. Jyn looks up from her phone and slips back into her father’s office, picking the receiver off of its rack in one smooth motion.

“Stardust Tattoo Parlor, how can I help you?”

For a moment, there is silence. Then: “You are not Galen Erso.”

Jyn blinks. “No, I’m not. I’m Jyn Erso.”

More silence from the other end of the line. Jyn pulls the phone away from her, for a moment, and stares at it before bringing it back to her ear.

“I’m – sorry,” the man on the other end says. “I think I have the wrong number. Have a good day.”

The line dies before Jyn can get a word in edgewise. She listens to the dial tone and closes her eyes, then sets the receiver back down on the hook.

By the time five in the afternoon rolls around, snow is gently drifting out of a cloudy grey sky. Jyn locks up the shop and starts on her way home, pulling her coat tight around her shoulders. Her apartment isn’t too far away – it’s closer than her father’s place, to say the least. She calculates times in her head as she walks; if it takes her fifteen minutes to shower and twenty minutes edgewise for everything else, she should have time for a couple of nice, relaxing episodes of Cutthroat Kitchen before she has to go out and spy on her father.

(She ends up watching five and has to cut her hair care routine short in order to get out of the bathroom on time.)

She’s struggling to zip up the back of a dress she hasn’t worn in _ages_ when a knock sounds from her front door.

“Just a minute!” she shouts. The zipper holds firm, less than an inch away from the top of her dress. Eventually, Jyn throws up her hands and makes her way to the door.

Cassian is standing outside in a dark leather coat, looking much the same as he had the day before. He blinks at the sight of Jyn, red faced and well dressed, then picks a spot just over the top of her head to stare at, instead.

Jyn almost smirks until he brings one of his hands out from behind his back. Her soft ‘what’ of surprise makes the corner of his lips twitch, but Jyn’s too busy staring at the rose in his hands to properly catalogue his reaction.

“I thought it’d fit the mood,” he says, still not quite looking at her. After a minute or two more of her gaping, he makes eye contact, lips curling into a sly, albeit friendly, smile. “Can I come inside? It’s freezing, and this thing is going to need water.”

“Right,” Jyn manages, stepping aside. She closes the door behind him and takes the rose when he offers it to her, cradling it gently as she moves towards the kitchen. She doesn’t know what Cassian makes of her lonely apartment, and she doesn’t ask. Instead, she fills one of her water glasses up and sets the rose inside, then places the impromptu vase in the middle of her counter.

“Thank you,” she says, turning around. Cassian is staring at her, a touch of kindness in his eyes, along with a flush that’s settled across his cheeks. He clears his throat and nods, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck.

“Your dress isn’t zipped up all the way,” he mutters, though it’s directed more towards the tile than it is to her.

Jyn frowns and reaches back behind her, straining her arms as she goes. She casts a quick glance towards the clock as she struggles; 7:30, right on time.

“They’re probably getting appetizers by now,” she says, then swears when the zipper catches. She freezes when a hand brushes over her shoulder. Looking backward, she sees Cassian, much closer than she remembered. He moves her fingers aside with a gentleness he shouldn’t be capable of and zips her dress up the rest of the way.

“We’ll be fine,” he says, patting her on the shoulder. “Are you ready?”

Jyn blinks at him, trying to reason out why her throat has gone dry. “Yeah,” she says, nodding. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

*

The ride to The Salt House is a bit of a bumpy one, made worse by Jyn’s fraying nerves. She wraps and unwraps her hands in her lap, wincing as the van drives over a speedbump like it’s nothing. Cassian doesn’t apologize, but she sees him grimace out of the corner of her eye.

The Salt House’s parking lot is nearly full by the time they arrive; how Cassian manages to find a parking spot, Jyn will never truly know. They slip inside together, Jyn’s hands gentle on Cassian’s arm, and inform the maître de that they have a reservation for two. The maître de takes in Cassian’s leather coat and Jyn’s dollar store earrings, then sighs and guides them to their requested table.

Cassian pulls out her chair for her as she goes to sit, covering her as Jyn scopes the restaurant for her father.

“There,” she murmurs as Cassian takes his seat. “By the window, on your four.”

Cassian, to her relief, doesn’t turn around and stare. He shifts, reaching for the bread basket that’s appeared on their table, and glances over for less than a second.

Galen Erso and Orson Krennic are chuckling over a bottle of white wine and sharing a silver platter of what Jyn assumes must be the world’s fanciest fries.

“That looks alright,” Cassian says, careful to keep his voice soft. He glances around the rest of the room and almost grimaces. Jyn looks, too, and has to fight down a sigh.

“I’ve got this,” she says, just before their waiter arrives. It makes her wallet ache just to think about it, but she hears her father’s voice carrying through the room and steadies her resolve. “Consider it a thank you for coming along with me.”

Cassian blinks at her, brow furrowing for an instant, but then the waiter is upon them, demanding that drinks be ordered. He gets a water, despite Jyn’s statement, leaving her to order a glass of emerald wine.

“I’m still driving,” he tells her when she pins him with a glare. “Don’t worry. I’ll take advantage of your hospitality when we order entrees.”

Jyn rolls her eyes, but her mouth twitches upward with the hint of a smile.

They talk about nothing while she sends surreptitious glances at her father over Cassian’s shoulder. She discovers that the he’s been working at his shop ever since he was a child; it’s family business, he claims, as he orders a platter of Spanish ham. Jyn tells him about her portfolio work, even shows him some of the work she’s done that she’s saved on her phone. He considers it for a long time, flipping through her pictures at a snail’s pace.

“These are really well done,” he tells her. He hands the phone back to her and swipes a piece of bread from the bread basket, too distracted, Jyn hopes, to see the flush that creeps across her face.

In the background, she sees her father laugh, head back and loud like he hasn’t in a while. Across the table, Orson Krennic smiles. It’s not the smile of a politician, Jyn thinks, taking a sip of her wine, though it leaves her with an uncomfortable buzzing in her stomach. She opens up her messenger app and sends a quick text off to her father, all the while watching as Krennic pours him some more wine.

<< Jyn Erso:

How’s your date going? >>

Cassian glances over his shoulder to follow her stare, then returns his attention to the table. “He looks happy,” he says.

“I hope so,” Jyn responds. She sets her phone down in her lap, then leans across the table to steal a slice of his ham. Cassian guffaws and bats her hand away, but he’s too slow; she escapes with a bite and a delighted smile.

<< Galen Erso:

It’s not a date, Jyn, but it’s going just fine. >>

Jyn sees Krennic pay the tab about an hour later, while she’s in the process of nursing her third glass of wine. Cassian is telling her a story about a friend of his, Kay, and their misadventures getting an oversized weigela into his shop, over a chocolate dessert Jyn can no longer remember the name of. She laughs openly only to cover her mouth with her hand, careful not to spill any wine on her dress or the table cloth.

She sees her father and Krennic walk out of the restaurant arm and arm. Head tilted, she stares after them until they’re out of sight.

Cassian watches, too, though he’s quick to turn his gaze back to her. “So,” he said, poking at the melting chocolate on his plate. “No interference needed, then.”

“I suppose that’s not a bad thing,” Jyn concedes. She takes a final sip of her wine, then pulls out her wallet and leaves her card on top of the bill their disgruntled waiter has left behind. When she looks up again, Cassian is staring at her, his dark eyes thoughtful.

“What is it?”

Cassian opens his mouth, prepared to say – something, but Jyn watches as he closes it again. Instead, he cuts off part of his chocolate nonsense and holds it out to her on the end of his dessert fork.

Jyn stares at him and tilts her head. Before the waiter can come and take their bill, she leans across the table and accepts the offering. Chocolate smears onto her lips, she knows it does, but she takes her time before licking it off. The way Cassian watches her makes her heart skip a beat, but she’s patient. She waits. She runs her tongue over her lips and relishes the way his pupils go wide.

He takes her arm as they walk to his van, some twenty minutes later, and even opens the passenger side door for her. Jyn settles into her seat as the engine revs and the radio blares out some Top Forty love song.

Halfway back to her apartment, she hears Cassian start to hum under his breath. When she glances as him, she finds him smiling, practically glowing in the light of the streetlamps that they pass.

 

**Monday**

She’s in the middle of a personally requested consultation, head bent over a portfolio, when the chime above the parlor’s door rings out. Galen is behind the counter, working through another pad of sticky notes; she hears him say hello in a voice not meant for customers and assumes that Orson Krennic has decided to drop by.

She starts when her father knocks on the office door.

“Excuse me,” he says, nodding to their client. “Jyn, a delivery just arrived for you.”

Jyn’s brow furrows as she apologizes to their client. She slips out of the office and into the front only to find Cassian standing in front of the desk. He grins when he sees her, bold and outright, and holds up a vaseful of roses interspersed with lavender.

“You Jyn Erso?” he asks, his voice rough.

Jyn shakes her head and smiles at him, rolling her eyes all the while. “Yes, sir,” she says. “I do believe I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought!


End file.
